The Heart Catcher
by PLLHalebSpoby
Summary: Part two of my two-shot series exploring Spencer and Toby's relationship from its origins. Spencer is still affected by what she saw in the alleyway, and confides her feelings to Emily, before finally deciding to take the next step and talk to him, and try to find out who is framing them both.
1. Chapter 1

**The Heart Catcher **

Something had changed after Spencer saw Toby in that alleyway, crying. Unknowingly letting her in to his private pain.

Something had arisen in Spencer.

Sympathy for his plight.

After all, wasn't she in the same position? Being framed for a crime she didn't commit?

Instead of viewing Toby as the monster that had brutally murdered her friend. While she still had questions, the bad side of her conscience that had pushed her to believe the lie, was gone.

Replaced with nothing but understanding, and sorrow that she had she had so harshly judged him for something he had never had a part in.

"Is my Chemistry book over there?" Emily asked, as she searched around her room for the lost book.

Spencer had decided to stay the night over at Emily's the previous night for a girl's sleepover. It hadn't been complete without the other girls there, but it had bee nice.

"Uh...I don't see it," Spencer said distractedly.

Her focus had shifted, zeroing in on the Cavanaugh's front yard. Their mailbox had been destroyed into tiny pieces of rubble.

Toby was crouched down outside, picking up the remaining pieces of the mailbox.

"It's probably in the _room, _Spence, not the front yard," Emily said, glancing over at Spencer as she searched through her backpack.

"What happened to the Cavanaugh's mailbox? Did somebody hit it?"

"It's not the first time. And I'm sure it wasn't an accident. Every time I come home, Toby is out there cleaning up some mess. And," she added, as she walked across the room, "please don't say he deserves it."

"I wasn't going to say that," Spencer said, finally tearing her eyes away from the window in order to glance at her friend. "Is that it?" she asked, spotting a suspiciously large book under the chair.

"Thanks," Emily said, diving under the chair to retrieve it.

"Do you still think that somebody framed him?"

"Toby? Do we _really _want to have this fight right now?"

Spencer hadn't told anyone about what she saw in the alley, so of course Emily wouldn't know her feelings had suddenly started to shift, manifest into something more.

"We're not on different sides anymore, Em. I mean, I know what it feels like to have somebody say you did something, when you know you didn't."

Lately, whenever she turned around, someone was right there, accusing her of doing something she hadn't done, or pretending to know her when she could have sworn she'd never seen that person in her life.

"You ready?" Emily asked, her bag slung over her arm as she carried the rest of her books.

"I said some really heinous things about Toby."

It was her version of an apology to Emily. Emily had always believed in in his innocence from day one, and Spencer had made her feel ridiculous for having those feelings.

"You should apologize to him, not to me."


	2. Chapter 2

Bound by a restrictive ankle monitoring device, Toby couldn't even leave his home if he wanted to. The home that was more and more resembling a prison, was the only means of freedom he had.

If he dared step foot outside the property line, he would be hauled away faster than he could blink. It wasn't all bad. Jenna had flute lessons most days, and their parents usually were away on some trip or another.

It was still hard.

Cabin fever was becoming more and more of a probability.

School was impossible. The kids that went there, that sent him death threats made sure that was possible.

It was easier being far removed from the harsh glare of the media and the townsfolk that insisted on making him feel as unwelcome as the scum on their expensive shoes.

His parole officer, the one who had the power of throwing him back in jail, informed his family that he needed to have some form of education, whether it was at home or back in the halls of Rosewood High.

It was with great reluctance that he let his parole officer hang up embarrassing fliers, advertising for a French tutor.

The way he figured it, he might as well give up and let the corrections officer throw away the key. There was no way that anyone with half a brain would want to come near him.

After all, they had been conditioned by their parents to see him as a bug, something to crush under their feet when they saw him.

The days had become slower and slower. Mixing together in a blur of regimented routine: Wake, eat, watch TV, eat again and then eventually go back to sleep for the night.

So when something _out _of the ordinary happened, it brought a jolt of secretive excitement out of him, as he went to the door, wondering who would visit the Cavanaugh home, the one dark spot on the otherwise cheerful street.

"Hi," said the last person on earth he had ever expected to see, standing on his porch. "I noticed this was on the ground as I was walking up."

What would Spencer Hastings, the girl who had caused some of his worst nights, be standing there? Why would she offer him his mail? And why wasn't she there with the rest of her posse?

He took the mail silently. It was all junk, or addressed to his parents. Nothing ever came for him anymore.

Figuring the exchange was over, he began to close the chained door, hoping to get in a few more hours sleep while Jenna was preoccupied with her video lessons.

"Wait," Spencer said. "I'm here to tutor you. Someone from the school called to tell you, didn't they?"

They had.

But they hadn't given out the identity of the person who would be attempting to bring his grade higher than a D.

With their history, he would have never guessed that she would be the one doing it. It made him nervous for obvious reasons, and it made him suspicious as to why she would all of a sudden want to help him.

Closing the door again, he sighed, weighing the pros and cons of accepting her help. He couldn't find any cons, and the pros of achieving a winning grade far outweighed having to work with her.

"Why you?"

Anyone who had been at the mercy of she and her friends, especially on the night of the garage fire, would ask that question.

The girl standing there wasn't the girl who had callously watched as police took him away for something that _she_ had done.

"Because I'm in AP French, and I volunteered. Look, I have all of your assignments, and I worked out a schedule for the rest of the semester."

What were her motives for helping him? Was it to further some agenda of hers? Or was it out of genuine concern?

He didn't know.

It was a situation that had taken him completely by surprise, and he almost didn't know how to react to it.

Stepping out onto the porch, he closed the door behind him. He was (hesitantly) willing to accept whatever help she had to offer him, but not in the presence of Jenna, or even his parents.

"You can't come in. Jenna's home."

"Okay," she said quietly, realization lighting up her face as she regarded him. "Well, is there somewhere else we can go?"

"I can't go somewhere else."

His ankle bracelet made sure of that.

"Well, will Jenna mind if we sit out here on the porch?"

No, probably not.

If she was too distracted with her audio tapes, but that could change at any second, and she would be ready to bark out her next chore for him to complete.

Like the wicked stepsister.

But much worse.

* * *

So they sat on the porch. She was, surprisingly, easy to talk to. Her limitless knowledge of the subject made it easy to forget that she was the one who had been responsible for sending him to jail in the first place.

After awhile, she pulled out a book and passed it over to him. "I got you something."

It was a book in French translation. He, with minimal effort, read the title. "The Heart Catcher?"

She smiled, though not in a condescending or inferior way, like he had expected. "It's Catcher In the Rye. I guess there's no literal translation, but it helps to read a book you already know in English."

How did _she _know that he read that book? Most of his solo trips to the Grille had been done before his arrest, where he would sit and read the book of his choice, oblivious, for once, to the stares of the outside world.

It had been peaceful while it had lasted.

"How do you know I've read it?"

"I saw you once," she admitted, almost sheepishly. "At the Apple Rose Grille. You were reading it."

"What are you doing here?"

And why had she suddenly taken such a keen interest in his educational needs?

She started to ramble on about the teacher and what he wanted him to review, but she was avoiding the real answer, and he knew it, too.

What do you _want_?"

"What makes you think I want something?" she challenged.

"Because _you _never do anything without a reason."

It wasn't hard to figure out. Alison and her gang of loyal followers, did whatever they wanted, almost always with some agenda figured out, or some revenge against some poor soul who did them wrong.

Himself included, for some reason.

"Did Emily tell you that?"

"Nobody had to tell me that."

She paused for a moment, glancing at the curtains in the dining room, which had suddenly rustled in the wind. A sign of Jenna, he didn't know for sure.

"I think that maybe you're being framed."

"What changed your mind?"

After all, she had been the circus master in her attempts to badmouth his name, and everything he stood for. She, of all people, was now doing a 180 and saying that she believed him?

"I think that somebody might be trying to do the same thing to me. Maybe the same person."

"How does that feel?"

"Not good. Scary.

"Why would someone go after you? What makes you so important?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you know something you're not supposed to know," he ventured.

"Well, every time I _think _I know something, I get the rug pulled out from under me, and I end up on my ass."

"Ce'est dommage," Toby said, with a slow smile.

Ce'est la guerre."


End file.
